Larry Loftis's Blog

ON THIS DAY 1946, SOE agent Odette Sansom became the first woman to lead an investiture at Buckingham Palace, and the first to receive a George Cross from the king himself. She would become the most highly decorated woman, and spy, of World War II. Here's why:Get the entire story in my nonfiction spy thriller, CODE NAME: LISE—The True Story of the Woman Who Became WWII's Most Highly Decorated Spy (Gallery/Simon & Schuster, Jan. 15, 2019), available now for pre-order at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, and other online retail outlets.

Le mot juste.The just word. The perfect word. The right word at the right time. The phrase was the guiding principle for one of history's greatest novelists, Gustave Flaubert. While Flaubert is recognized for his commitment to this concept (not to mention his influence on literary realism), little is written about what the Frenchman meant by le mot juste. Doesn't every author seek the right word?Yes and no. Every author searches for the word which conveys the correct meaning, but few spend the extra time sifting through all possible choices to find a word which also adds to the poetry of the sentence.Language, in a very real sense, is like music: it carries a beat, meter, sounds, and overall harmony (or disharmony). If crafted carefully, each sentence brings to bear the strings and horns and percussion, so that the paragraph as a whole operates as an orchestra, the chapter as a symphony. Who, then, is the peer of Shakespeare? Is it not Mozart, Bach, or Chopin? Great writers, like Flaubert, spend endless hours pouring over perfectly constructed sentences to bring them to life. To add majesty. To add magic. Yes, to add even glamour.But how? you ask. I just finished reading Flaubert's classic, Madame Bovary (1857), and his painstaking search for le mot juste can be seen, and explained, in every sentence. Ironically enough, I also just finished a largely unknown work, by a somewhat obscure author writing more than a century later, and the similarity of sentence structure is striking. Consider these two passages:"By the time he'd seen me and made his way through the crowd my mood had swung in the opposite direction to something like anger; it happens like that when things are chancy: You suddenly wonder where your nerves have gone, and there they are all the time on the roller coaster.""The warm room, with its discreet carpet, its gay ornaments, and its calm light seemed made for the intimacies of passion. The curtain-rods ending in arrows, their brass pegs, and the great balls of the fire-dogs shone suddenly when the sun came in." Both passages are beautiful, and roll gently off the tongue. They should, as each author carefully selected each word for assonance (similar vowel sounds) and consonance (repeating or similar sounding consonants, as in red river or calm chaos), an art largely lost today.Re-read the first sentence and notice the assonance of four long "i" sounds ("time" and "like," twice each), six long "e" sounds (seen, me, something, things, chancy, suddenly), five "er" sounds (anger, wonder, there, roller, coaster), and the similar sounds of "swung," "something," and "wonder." Now catch the six times the consonant "d" occurs. Assonance and consonance, of course, are like garlic: a little adds delicious flavor; too much and the meal is ruined. Reading that passage the first time, you don't notice the reason for its beauty, simplicity, and flow. A second read, though, catching the recurring sounds, and the source of enjoyment becomes clear.Now to the second passage. The emphasized consonant of the first sentence is "t" (occuring six times), while "r" dominates the second (occurring seven times). On the assonance side, notice the similar sounds of "warm" and "ornaments," followed by the transition to sounds of "n" (utilizing assonance and consonance): passion, curtain, ending, in, shone, suddenly, sun, and in. Finally, notice the assonance of "discreet" and "seemed."Unlike the first passage, however, the garlic stands out. Why was the word "discreet" chosen? Is carpet generally (or ever) described as discreet? The word seems misplaced; carpet is new, fine, worn, and many other things, but not discreet. Second, we don't usually think of curtain-rods as shining. In both instances, the words were selected for their assonance or consonance: "discreet" to match the long "e" sound of "seemed," "curtain-rods" to carry the repeating "r."This second passage, where it seems the author is overdoing it, is from Madame Bovary (page 202). While Flaubert's prose is beautiful throughout, he often sacrifices flow and pace at the alter of assonance/consonance. In many instances, descriptions go on ad nauseum, apparently because Flaubert simply enjoyed the construction of lavish prose. Even with that demerit, though, Flaubert more than deserves his place as one of history's greatest writers, and his work is a fine tribute to the concept of le mot juste.The first passage, by the way, is from Elleston Trevor's (writing as Adam Hall) The Peking Target (page 95). For my money, Trevor is a better writer than Flaubert, blasphemous as that sounds. Trevor's prose is as beautiful as the Frenchman's, but is tighter, and more subtle. In addition, Trevor gives the reader all the benefits of a thriller: pace, cliffhangers, mystery, suspense, intrigue, reversals, and twists.But one thing is certain regarding both authors: Flaubert and Trevor labored at length with each word, each sentence, each page, and each novel to give readers a symphony they'd never forget.So writers, do not grow weary in your search for le mot juste.Mozart is listening.

One of the great joys of being an author is seeing the creativity of readers who send comments. Today I received this word of encouragement from someone who just finished INTO THE LION'S MOUTH. His comment started: "Loftis, you magnificent bastard, I read your book!" Because I loved the movie "Patton," and remembered the general's line about Rommel, I recognized it immediately. How could I not? It was my favorite line from the film, and remains one of my favorite quotes ever. Following his opening remark, the reader attached the clip from the movie. Loved it. Made my day! Hope it makes yours, too!

ON THIS DATE 1943, the most romantic scene of WWII occurred at Fresnes Prison, in Paris. As Captain Peter Churchill strolled the prisoner exercise yard that day, he heard the sound of women's voices. "Pierre, Pierre," he heard one woman yelling, "your Odette is here!"Looking up, he saw an open window in the women's section. The woman continued shouting, "Your Odette is here!" Odette Sansom was his SOE courier, captured with him in April. She was also his love, and his heart burned to see her.In the cell next to the woman's, Odette stood on a chair, waving a paper to catch Peter's attention. Her main window didn't open, though, and it appeared that Peter couldn't hear her cries. There was a small window near the ceiling, however, which she hoped would allow her to hear him."Can you see her waving the paper?" the woman yelled at Peter. He scanned the windows and his heart leaped. "Yes!" he shouted back, waving at Odette."She sends her love!" the woman hollered. Peter beamed. "Tell her to listen," he yelled back, "and I will sing her my reply."As Odette and several of the women in adjacent cells watched and listened, Peter serenaded Odette with the 1935 hit, "You Are My Heart's Delight," a song made famous by the day's most popular tenor, Austrian Richard Tauber. Since Odette was French, Peter sang the tune in her native language:You are my heart's delight, and where you are, I long to be. You make my darkness bright, when like a star you shine on me. Shine, then, my whole life through. Your life divine bids me hope anew that dreams of mine may at last come true, and I shall hear you whisper, "I love you."In dreams when night is falling I seem to hear you calling. For you have cast a net around me and 'neath a magic spell hath bound me. Yours, yours alone, a wondrous air is your beautiful hair. Bright as a summer sky is the night in your eyes. Soft as a sparkling star is the warmth of my love.You are my heart's delight, and where you are, I long to be. You make my darkness bright, when like a star you shine on me. Shine, then, my whole life through. Your life divine bids me hope anew that dreams of mine may at last come true, and I shall hear you whisper, "I love you."Odette and the women watching brushed back tears. And without spoiling the story, suffice it to say that Peter's dreams did, at last, come true.The entire story of Peter and Odette's ordeal, and romance, is revealed in Larry's upcoming nonfiction thriller, CODE NAME: LISE: The True Story of the Woman Who Became WWII's Most Highly Decorated Spy. To hear Richard Tauber's original soundtrack of "You Are My Heat's Desire," click here.

On July 26, 1944, after four suffocating days in an unventilated attic with forty Ukrainian women, Odette and the others were loaded onto a train bound for the one place feared by every woman in Europe. Ravensbrück. Created by Heinrich Himmler himself, the notorious labor camp for women had been opened in May 1939 to house up to 4,000 political prisoners. Now it housed over 36,000, and included criminals, prostitutes, Jehovah's Witnesses, and Resistance agents. By the end of the war, some 133,000 women would pass through its gates, as many as 40,000 of whom would perish. Odette's train arrived at the Fürstenberg station the following day, July 27, and a group of SS guards—men and women—supervised the disembarking. The charming village on the banks of the Schwedtsee could not have been more different from the Ravensbrück community across the lake. Because the Havel River connected the Mecklenburg chain of lakes to the Schwedt, Fürstenberg was a popular boating destination and had become something of a resort area. Quaint cottages dotted the lengthy waterfront and quality homes built for camp employees attracted many SS officers and their families. When the guards were ready, Odette and the Ukrainians left for the two-mile trek to the camp. It was impossible not to notice the town's many flowers, including white gardenias, which adorned Fürstenberg windowsills. Such was the visual delight that one prisoner later remarked, "Is there really a prettier village on earth?" After they had marched a few minutes the lake appeared on the right, SS homes on the left, and then they could see it; Ravensbrück's fourteen foot walls and gargoyle-like towers beckoned the damned and almost dead. They continued alongside the tranquil Schwedtsee and were led through the massive iron gates and into the roll-call area. The misery had been carefully planned, it seemed; the grounds were set into a man-made valley and there were no trees, no bushes, and no grass. The ground was cinder and, like the crop wielding guards, hard and cold. All around Odette could see skull-and-crossbones warning that the triple barbed wires atop the concrete walls were electrified. In front of her was a sea of bullet-gray barracks—acres of them, perfectly aligned, perfectly dreary. To one side was what appeared to be a large canteen for the guards; to the other, an administrative office, another building, and the crematorium. More barbed wire, also electrified, separated the prisoner area from the canteen. From what Odette could tell, it appeared that the camp was unprepared for their arrival and so the guards herded them down the main street to the washroom. The women showered and drank from the spigots and were told that they would be spending the night there—on the concrete floor. Odette was so tired it didn't matter; she was asleep in seconds. Ravensbrück prisoner intake normally occurred in several stages. First, newcomers were taken to a desk to give up their personal belongings—jewelry, books, diaries, and purses—and then herded to another to give up their clothes. Stark naked, they would walk past a dozen leering SS men to the showers. After the icy cleansing prisoners were inspected for lice—which infested the camp—and if any were found the woman's head and pubic area were shaved. Traumatized by the experience, many cried; others committed suicide by throwing themselves on the electrified wire. Still naked, the women then stood in line—often for hours—to receive a medical exam. The examination each group received, however, varied greatly. For some, a doctor simply inspected their throat and a dentist peered at their teeth; others received a gynecologic exam, the same instrument being used on every woman without disinfection. Prisoners were then given a thin dress and directed back to the SS men, who would roam their hands over every woman—front, back, and sides—in case she had pilfered a Luger or Schmeisser from a shower head or the doctor's office. Finally, inmates would receive a barrack assignment but before exiting the building, female guards would search them again. Perhaps because Odette was considered "on death row" and would not be mingling with others, she was spared the processing indignity. Around ten the next morning a Gestapo agent came to the washroom and called for her. He would be escorting her, he said, to see the commandant of the camp, Sturmbannführer (Major) Fritz Sühren. Sühren was a prototype Nazi—Aryan as they came, fervent as ideologically possible. He had joined the Nazi party in the early days, 1928, and volunteered for the SS three years later. While he was trained as a soldier, he was ushered into administration and in 1941 joined the staff at the Sachsenhausen concentration camp. The following year he was named deputy commandant, and in the summer of 1942 became commandant of Ravensbrück. Almost immediately, his operating policy became evident: exterminate prisoners by hard labor and starvation. This was the man who would be responsible for Odette's welfare. He was strikingly young, Odette noticed—mid-thirties—with a baby face, fair hair, and blank blue eyes, almost without pigment. His lily-white skin shone bright against the green and silver SS Penal Section uniform, his elegant hands dangling like those of a mannequin. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" "Non, Monsieur." Sühren frowned. "You are relation to Mr. Winston Churchill?" "My husband is a distant connection of his." In the camp she would be known as Frau Schurer, he said. It was logical; the Churchill name would have been a distraction—half the guards wanting to know details about the British Bulldog, half wanting to beat Odette with vicarious blows. He also told her that she would be put in the Bunker, the prison of the camp. "Very well. As you wish." Odette's mild response reflected ignorance about her new home; the Bunker was Ravensbrück's most severe punishment, reserved only for the most incorrigible prisoners. It was actually a building located near the camp entrance and was comprised of 78 cells—39 on each of two floors. Each cell was about the size of a closet—4.5 paces long by 2.5 paces wide—and contained a plank bed, folding table, stool, and toilet. To send an inmate to the Bunker, a guard was required to submit a written report to the Camp Leader for Protective Custody, and any sentence longer than three days required the commandant's approval. During winter, cells generally were unheated though they had heating panels. Bunker inmates often went days without food, and most were beaten. One prisoner, a twenty year-old pregnant woman, was found dead in her cell, frozen to the floor. She had been beaten. As one condemned to death, Odette would receive special attention. Sühren spoke to the Gestapo agent, saying that Frau Schurer was to receive the normal ration of the punishment cells, no exercise, no books, and no bath. The agent escorted her across the compound to the Bunker and turned her over to Margarete Mewes, a beady-eyed guard with a beak nose engulfed by thick, black tussled hair—a bird chirping from her nest. Odette drank in one last swallow of the peaceful blue sky and followed Mewes into the compound and along a short passage. They came to a security gate for the inner Bunker, which Mewes unlocked, and went down a flight of stairs. Vestiges of daylight vanished, the corridor now illuminated by overhead lamps. Mewes unlocked a cell and Odette went in, the door slamming behind her. It was pitch dark. Odette stretched out her hands—which she could not see—and gradually probed the confines of her compartment. She would live in utter darkness, unable to distinguish night from day. Just as she had during her childhood blindness. She closed her eyes.Excerpted from the upcoming book by Larry Loftis, CODE NAME: LISE—The True Story of the Spy Who Became WWII's Most Highly Decorated Woman (Gallery/Simon & Schuster, January 15, 2019).

ON THIS DAY 1950, the King and Queen of England attended a most unusual event—the world premier of a British film opening at The Plaza Theatre in Piccadilly Circus. As one would expect, security was tight as thousands tried to catch a glimpse of royalty and stars.Naturally, all of England was eager to know what kind of movie would draw their majesties from Buckingham Palace. But this was no ordinary film. It was called "Odette," and was a movie to honor Odette Sansom, the World War II SOE heroine who had fallen in love with her commanding officer, Captain Peter Churchill, had been captured and tortured by the Nazis, but never talked and even told the Germans that she, not Peter, was the leader of their circuit. Her efforts saved the lives of countless agents, and she was awarded the George Cross—Britain's second highest honor—by the king in 1946. And to the delight of every newspaper and tabloid in England, Odette and Peter married the following year.In thefilm, Anne Neagle played the role of Odette, with Trevor Howard as Peter Churchill, Peter Ustinov as Arnaud, their radio operator, and Marius Goring as Hugo Bleicher, the German secret policeman who chased and arrested them. For the entire story, catch my upcoming release, CODE NAME LISE: The True Story of the Spy Who Became World War II's Most Highly Decorated Woman(Gallery/Simon & Schuster, Jan. 15, 2019). Pre-order.

TODAY 1944, in preparation for D-Day, the BBC broadcast into France 306 messages. Buried within them were coded messages for the SOE—Special Operations Executive—and French Resistance. One message, "Vilma vous dit oui" ("Vilma tells you yes"), was an instruction for the Allied operatives to destroy all German rolling stock on the railway line Angouleme‒Bordeaux.Another, "Madame dit non" ("Madam says no"), meant for them to bring down all telegraph wires between Caen and Alengon, and between Caen and Évreux.After D-Day the Maquis (French Resistance fighters often supplied by, and working in coordinated efforts with, the SOE) were dispatched behind battle zones to disrupt German transport and communication. Telephone lines were sabotaged, cutting off from Berlin Wehrmacht officers at the front. The Germans responded by sending couriers to deliver messages and they were ambushed and shot. Bridges were blown, reinforcements were blocked. Like Stalingrad, Normandy had become a German deathtrap. This article is taken from Chapter 17 of my upcoming release, CODE NAME LISE: The True Story of the Spy Who Became World War II's Most Highly Decorated Woman (Gallery/Simon & Schuster, Jan. 15, 2019). Pre-order .

TODAY 1943, a civilian flight (KLM Royal Dutch Airlines/BOAC Flight 777) from Lisbon to Bristol, England was shot down over the Bay of Biscay by a German Luftwaffe Junkers Ju 88, killing all seventeen aboard. One of the passengers was the beloved English actor, Leslie Howard, famous for portraying Ashley Wilkes in 1939's Gone With the Wind.Whether the Germans particularly targeted Howard remains the subject of considerable debate. Throughout the war, Lisbon was the hotbed of spies and the Germans and British waged ongoing propaganda wars in neutral Portugal and Spain. Howard had been traveling through the two countries lecturing on film, but also meeting with propagandists to strengthen Allied support. William Stephenson, head of British Security Coordination (linking MI6 to America and Canada), believed the Germans intentionally assassinated Howard to demoralize England. Howard's son, Ronald, later wrote that Joseph Goebbels ordered the attack since one of Howard's films had ridiculed the Nazi propaganda minister. Other accounts, including German sources, suggest that Howard was not singled out.Whatever the case, England lost a great patriot, and America a great actor. A monument dedicated to the victims was erected in San Andres de Teixido, Spain, just south of the downing location.En route to the monument, along the cliffs, is a sign explaining the incident. Larry Loftis is the international bestselling author ofINTO THE LION'S MOUTH: The True Story of Dusko Popov—World War II Spy, Patriot, and the Real-Life Inspiration for James Bond (Berkley-Caliber/Penguin Random House) and the upcoming nonfiction thriller, CODE NAME LISE: The True Story of the Spy Who Became World War II's Most Highly Decorated Woman (Gallery/Simon & Schuster, January 15, 2019).

TODAY, May 31, 1945, the Allies captured history's greatest spy-catcher, German secret police officer Sergeant Hugo Bleicher, in Amsterdam. The French, British, Canadians—even the Americans—all had files on him. The British had two sets: one under "Monsieur Jean," and one under "Colonel Henri"—Bleicher's favorite aliases. From the day Paris was liberated, 25 August 1944, the British and French had set their sights on capturing this notorious but brilliant operative. And for good reason.Bleicher had arrested and sent to prison more than one hundred British and French spies. Part Sherlock Holmes and part Samuel Gerard (the U.S. Marshal played by Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive), Bleicher was born for the role. Intelligent, cunning, and relentless, he spoke French like a native and could muster up English with an American accent. It all started in the fall of 1941 when he had been asked by the Abwehr (German military intelligence) to interrogate a suspected spy in Cherbourg, a coastal town on the Cotenin peninsula of Normandy. Hugo not only extracted a confession from the French Resistance operative, he convinced the man to work for him as a double agent. Using him as bait in Paris, Hugo then began to systematically dismantle the largest Allied circuit in France, Interallie. By late November, he had arrested some sixty agents, including all of Interallie's leaders. So impressed was the Abwehr that they pulled rank and snatched Bleicher away from the secret police force and made him a one-man spy-catching operation. Whatever Hugo needed, Colonel Oscar Reile told him—assistants, back-up soldiers, money—he'd receive. Bleicher's first assignment, Reile said, was to arrest a Resistance leader coming to Paris for a meeting. The man's name was Marsac.Bleicher went to work. After arresting Marsac, Hugo went to visit him daily in Fresnes prison and almost immediately recognized that Marsac would never betray his countrymen as a double agent. Seamlessly, Hugo moved to a different approach, convincing Marsac that he wanted to defect to England. Conjuring up an elaborate scheme, he told Marsac that they could escape together. Naturally, they'd need the assistance of the other Resistance agents, he said. Hugo was a first-class actor and completely fooled Marsac, enticing him to expose one of SOE's (Special Operations Executive) top circuits, SPINDLE, which was run by a seasoned and savvy organizer, Captain Peter Churchill, and assisted by a courageous courier and Section F's best radioman. What happened with SPINDLE, and how Bleicher was finally captured, is the subject of my next book, CODE NAME LISE: The True Story of the Spy Who Became World War II's Most Highly Decorated Woman (Gallery/Simon & Schuster, January 15, 2019). Larry Loftis is the international bestselling author of INTO THE LION'S MOUTH: The True Story of Dusko Popov—World War II Spy, Patriot, and the Real-Life Inspiration for James Bond (Berkley-Caliber/Penguin Random House).

ON THIS DAY, 26 May 1944, British Intelligence pulled off one of World War II's most amazing stunts. Using two doubles—double agent Dusko Popov and body double Lieutenant M. E. Clifton James—the British reinforced what Popov had been telling his German supervisor in Lisbon, namely that the Allied invasion of France would come no earlier than July. It began one morning in May when Clifton James—an office clerk with the Royal Army Pay Corps in Leicester—answered his phone. "Lieutenant James speaking." "Oh, James, this is Colonel David Niven speaking from the Army Kinematograph section." James paused. Surely this was a joke. David Niven, the actor? Granted, word had spread that Niven had left Hollywood to serve his country, but why would he be calling a lowly lieutenant in the Pay Corps? "We've heard a lot about the shows you've been putting on for the troops," Niven said. "Would you be interested in making some Army films?" James thought a moment and then recalled entertaining soldiers a few months earlier at London's Comedy Theatre. Somehow Niven must have heard. "Yes, sir, I most certainly should." Niven stated that a Colonel Lester would be in Leicester in two days and asked if James could meet him for lunch at the Grand Hotel. James agreed. "And be sure to bring along some photos," Niven added. Lester was charming, James recalled, but said nothing about filming. After small talk about war and theater, the colonel took the photos and left. Days later, James received a letter from Niven stating that James had been given the post and should report at once to Lester's office in London. At the second meeting, Lester was blunt. "James, I'm afraid I've got rather a shock for you," he said. "You are not going to make any films." Lester lit a cigarette and then asked, "Are you patriotic?" Silly question. Of course he was patriotic, James replied. The colonel handed him a paper and and asked James to read it carefully and sign it. It was the Official Secrets Act. James read the admonition about secrecy—and the penalties for failing to keep it—and signed. Lester tucked the paper away and came clean. His name was not Lester, Colonel T. A. "Tar" Robertson said, and their meeting had nothing to do with films. James was needed for an urgent assignment, he explained, acting as a body double for Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery. What Robertson didn't tell James was that he ran MI5's B1A section, which controlled Britain's double agents. He also didn't inform James that one of Tar's operatives—double agent Dusko Popov—would be working the other side, surreptitiously leading a German agent to stumble across a "chance" sighting of Monty in Gibraltar. The following day, MI5 and MI6 assumed, the German would wire Berlin of the sighting. The backhanded news would reinforce Popov's declaration to the Abwehr's Lisbon chief, Major Ludovico von Karsthoff, that an invasion would not be coming any time soon. After all, Monty would surely be leading the attack and wouldn't be hobnobbing in Gibraltar just days prior. Robertson told James that he'd be flown to Gibraltar to meet the Governor in about ten days, and that—in uniform and with carefully scripted meetings and dialogue—he would be Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery. In the meantime, he should memorize everything about Monty—walk, gestures, facial expressions, and habits. The Germans had an informant doing repairs on the Government House, Robinson explained, and the plan was for MI6's Major Frank Foley to arrange for James to be seen by him. The success of D-Day, Robertson said without disclosing a potential date, would be greatly assisted if James could put on a convincing performance. James memorized Monty's persona and the scripted lines and was off to Gibraltar with Foley. On the 26th, it was showtime. The official cars pulled in to the Government House amid cheering British troops. "Good old Monty," they shouted. James exited the car, saluted, and saw General Sir Ralph Eastwood, Governor of Gibraltar, waiting for him. "Hullo, Monty, it's good to see you again." "How are you, Rusty? You're looking very fit." They continued the scripted talk until they reached the governor's office. Sir Ralph closed the door and turned James around, admiring him. "I wouldn't have believed it possible," he said. "You're simply splendid. I can't get over it. You are Monty. I've known him for years, but you're so much like him that for a few moments I thought he had changed the plan and decided to come here himself." An aide escorted James to his suite and he relaxed for half an hour, taking in a view of the grounds. Not long thereafter, Foley stopped by to escort him back to the governor's office. "Twelve minutes from now," Sir Ralph said, "you and I will take a walk in the gardens at the back of the house." The governor explained that they would pass some scaffolding where the enemy informant was working. In addition, he said, two Spanish financiers would enter the gardens at roughly the same time—arriving to see the governor and his wife—and he would introduce them to James. They were suspected informants as well. At the designated time, James and the governor entered the courtyard, passed the scaffolding, and spotted the Spaniards as they entered on the opposite side. "Don't be nervous, James," Sir Ralph whispered. "It's a tricky moment—just keep your head." James nodded and began to banter about the War Cabinet and Plan 303. The Spaniards approached and Sir Ralph introduced them to "Monty," saying that he and Mrs. Eastwood would be with them shortly. Above the men, on the second floor exterior corridor—unknown to any of the group below—Dusko Popov was showing the courtyard to an Abwehr agent. Major Foley, quietly orchestrating the symphony, apparently provided them entrance. Popov feigned shock, announcing to his German guest their incredible good fortune. Here, in the flesh, was none other than Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery! Popov and Eastwood then went about their business and James stayed out of sight until he could be escorted back to the airport. The bait was set and MI5 and MI6 were ecstatic. Within twenty-four hours, they were sure, Berlin would believe that Monty was in Gibraltar. The misinformation, coupled with the reports of Abwehr agents IVAN (Popov), ARABEL (Juan Pujol), and ARMAND (Roman Czerniawski) (British double agents TRICYCLE, GARBO, and BRUTUS, respectively), would surely convince the Germans that the Allied invasion was at least a month away. The British were correct, and the Germans were caught off-guard on D-Day. The double doubles, it turned out, was a double-cross for the ages. Larry Loftis is the international bestselling author of INTO THE LION'S MOUTH: The True Story of Dusko Popov—World War II Spy, Patriot, and the Real-Life Inspiration for James Bond (Berkley-Caliber/Penguin Random House) and the upcoming nonfiction thriller, CODE NAME LISE: The True Story of the Spy Who Became World War II's Most Highly Decorated Woman (Jan. 15, 2019, Gallery/Simon & Schuster).